


Do The Stars Gaze Back?

by twss



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Aziraphale & Anathema Device Friendship, Chaptered, Crowley & Anathema Device Friendship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23254060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twss/pseuds/twss
Summary: Crowley is convinced he has to rise in order to be with Aziraphale. He asks Aziraphale to teach him how to become a good person. They're both idiots trying to communicate their love.Beware the slow burn.Title is from Stardust by Neil Gaiman
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

Snakes are primarily solitary creatures. The one exception to this rule occurs when the snake happens to be the demon Crowley and his association happens to be with the angel Aziraphale.

  
Currently, Crowley is a man-shaped being sitting on an ancient couch in an ancient bookshop drinking ancient wine. He knew this was a bad idea. The problem was since Armageddidn’t, Crowley no longer had a legitimate reason as to why he shouldn’t tell Aziraphale how he feels. Before he was keeping his angel safe and that had been his main priority in life since Eden. He could always push his feelings behind to keep Aziraphale alive and well. That was what mattered.

  
But that was Then and this is Now. Now is an entirely different universe. One where Gabriel isn’t breathing down Aziraphale’s back. One where Crowley is out of a job after that quite unfortunate meeting with his boss, Lucifer. They were safe. More than safe, they were on their own side. He was no longer in a family of Capulets warring with the Montagues. (Crowley hated that play the most. It was far worse than Hamlet.) He was free to spend time with his best friend while not under the guise of The Arrangement. That was by far the best part about Now. No longer did he have to conveniently have business near the latest of Aziraphale’s blessings. No longer did he have to conjure up a conundrum that could only be solved with exactly two spirit beings. No longer did he have to check the Earth for the angel’s signature and whether or not he was distressed and definitely in trouble. If Aziraphale was to be in any trouble henceforth, Crowley was determined to be with him from the onset.

  
So when Crowley received an invitation over the telephone that morning to “get a bit squiffy, dear,” he could hardly say no, even though he knew it was dangerous territory. It didn’t stop the little thrill from running through him. He had seen Aziraphale a total of 82 out of 90 days since the Almostageddon. Each time he was still grateful as this was the most time they’d ever spent together consecutively. Each time he felt a smile appear on his lips (which he immediately tried to stamp out, for the record) and a little floaty feeling in his stomach.

  
So, his corporation is weak.

  
And weak corporations sometimes want to unabashedly stare into their best friend’s eyes while under the influence of alcohol. Squiffy corporations sometimes want to tell their best friend that he is beautiful and perfect and _ohmySomebodyIjustwanttokissyou_.

  
“I wonder how our boy Warlock is doing.” Crowley had been in his own thoughts so he was surprised as to how the conversation evolved to this. Aziraphale was sitting in his own chair across from him. His eyes weren’t focused on anything and he was absent-mindedly swirling the wine in his glass.

  
“Probably still an arse,” Crowley said. “I’m pretty sure Nanny Ashtoreth had more of an impact than Brother Francis did.”

  
“Nanny Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale muses, “you managed to be very scary and… alarmingly attractive.” Crowley was mid sip of his wine during this. He slightly choked on the Red but saved himself from spitting. He froze and examined the angel. He was still smiling far off as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He was more than a bit squiffy at this point. He was sloshed. Crowley couldn’t recall Aziraphale ever calling him attractive before. That wasn’t the type of thing permitted Then.

  
“Well, I wish I could say the same for Brother Francis but he wasn’t exactly a looker.” _That’s it Crowley; deflect and slightly offend._ If Aziraphale had heard him he made no note of it. Instead he smiled at the floor seemingly lost again.

  
“We’d make such awful parents together, dear,” Aziraphale says, chuckling. This time Crowley does spit out some wine. His throat stings a bit. “Are you alright Crowley?” the angel asks.

  
“Of course I’m alright,” he answers defensively.

  
After letting the moment pass he looks at Aziraphale again. The drink has given his cheeks a rouge blush. They’re the type of cheeks grandmothers would want to pinch. Crowley wants to pinch them too. His hair is slightly mussed as well. There are pale curls sticking straight up and Crowley wants to touch those too. In the interest of saving time, one could deduce that Crowley wants to touch every point on the angel’s face.

  
Crowley abruptly stands. “Well angel, I think I best head out now. It’s getting late.” _You keep saying things that make me feel like I’m about to discorperate so I’m going to leave now._

  
“Are you tired, my dear?” he asks. “I know how much you like your sleep…” he trails off.

  
“Yeah, s’it,” he mumbles. He starts to move toward the front of the store when the angel gets off his chair.

  
“You know,” he interjects, “I have a bed here.” Crowley turns around and raises his eyebrow, causing his friend to blush and look away. “I just mean if you ever wish to not sober up to drive the Bentley, you know. Sometimes it’s nice to just let the alcohol go through your system.” A pause. “No pressure or anything, I just barely use it and I figure someone should.”

  
“Thanks, angel. Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer someday.” He tries not to read into it more than he already is. _There goes Aziraphale again, being a nice friend. Always looking out for me._ But he can’t help himself when his brain also adds _maybe I can convince him to take a nap with me one night when we’re both drunk. Nothing creepy of course, I just want to see him sleep. Wait, that is definitely creepy._

  
“I’ll see you out, my dear,” Aziraphale says, walking up to the door with him. He stops when they both reach the entrance. This is the part Crowley hates. In the Then, touching was never allowed. It was so dangerous it was never even a question or consideration. But they were in the Now, the not so very dangerous Now. So every time Aziraphale and Crowley parted for the night (or Satan forbid, an entire day) there was the peculiar moment which Crowley now found himself in again. Aziraphale always looked as if he were about to hug Crowley. In fact, one time he had held his arms out before remembering himself and quickly tucking them back in. Crowley could count on one hand the number of times the pair had touched before Armageddon’t. Never once were those a hug. If he hadn’t lived on Earth for so many millennia with the angel, Crowley would think Aziraphale a touchy and affectionate person. He could no longer count the touches. So many arm touches and squeezes, so many brushing of knees, and the occasional holding of hands. The latter always had him flustered and his stupid corporation would sweat and he was certain the angel must regret grabbing such a clammy hand, although he never mentioned it.

  
The one touch they hadn’t quite reached yet was the hug. Crowley wondered why Aziraphale always stopped himself. But, he supposed he couldn’t complain as he never actively reciprocated or initiated it himself. He wanted to hug him, of course he did. He wanted to hold him all night and into the day and never let him go. Despite this longing, his damned corporation always froze in moments like these. He couldn’t just let himself go like that. He was worried once he got to hold Aziraphale he wouldn’t let go for an unhealthy amount of time. And he wasn’t about to freak out said angel when they had just barely started to touch each other comfortably in the first place.

  
But _wow_ , was that resolve crumbling with each interaction. Aziraphale’s cheeks were still a pleasant pink and that silly smile he’d worn all night hadn’t left. Unlike all night though, Aziraphale was now staring at Crowley head-on. His gaze was not far off or lingering on his shoes. He was searching Crowley’s eyes. Crowley suddenly found himself regretting the decision to leave his glasses at his flat. His stupid serpent eyes were probably wide with alcohol and whatever that light tingly feeling was whenever he looked at Aziraphale.

  
He had never been a big fan of his snake-like features. They seemed to be more trouble than they were worth for a demon living on Earth. (However, he was grateful there were no flies buzzing around him or an amphibian sat atop his head.) For instance, his vision is never good in the daytime. The glasses aren’t just for fashion or maintaining some normalcy around humans, although those are added bonuses. As a primarily nocturnal snake, Crowley’s eyes work best in the dark. The only reason Crowley doesn’t adhere to his nocturnal tendencies is to hangout with a certain angel who shall remain nameless. (“I prefer to read at night, my dear. The world is just so quiet and serene. I’d love to have breakfast with you tomorrow though!”) And don’t get him started on, shudder at the thought, shedding.

  
But the way Aziraphale is staring into his eyes could flatter a stubborn, old serpent.

  
“Night, angel,” he mumbles. He quickly ducks out the door and strides to the (illegally) parked Bentley. Once inside he looks back at the bookshop. Aziraphale is still waiting there by the door, seeing his friend return home safely, no doubt. But as Crowley tries to go to sleep that night he can’t get the image of Aziraphale standing by the door with his stupid smiling face out of his head.

∻

“I’m gonna need a small favor, angel.” Crowley was desperate. He could never do this without Aziraphale’s help.

  
“Whatever for, my dear?” asked the angel. He was barely glancing up from his book and simultaneously sipping a piping cup of tea. He was sitting at his desk while Crowley anxiously paced back and forth. It had been 5 days since he had called him attractive. Not that Crowley was counting.

  
“I need you to teach me to become… a better- a better person,” Crowley croaked. He was already embarrassed even before seeing the look of shock on the angel’s face. Aziraphale actually put down his mug and closed the novel. He looked up at Crowley, trying to hide his facial expression.

  
_He’s looking at me like I’m crazy because someone like me could never be a good person. This is all Anathema’s fault. I never should’ve let her drag me along to that fancy London dress shop._

  
It had all started with a call about a month ago. When Crowley had heard the ringing he didn’t bother checking the ID, assuming it was Aziraphale. It was always Aziraphale, who else called him?

  
Apparently, Anathema did.

  
“Hello, angel.”

  
“Crowley?” It was not the voice of an angel.

  
“What, who is this?” Crowley asked.

  
“Anathema.”

  
“Who?” Crowley wasn’t the best with names or people in general.

  
“You hit me with your car and then we saved the planet together?” She posed it as a question although it wasn’t one.

  
“Oh, yeah, hi, that was me. Um… What do you want? Wait, how did you even get this number? I don’t give it out willy nilly.”

  
“Oh, well Aziraphale-”

  
“You talk with Aziraphale? I’m gonna have to yell at him for this.”

  
“Oh yes, we talk all the time. He’s such a lovely fellow that one. I do wonder how he puts up with your-”

  
“Hey! Ever thought to ask how I deal with him being all fastidious and persnickety and tetchy and-”

  
“Mr. Crowley!”

  
“Oh, what did you even bother me for?” he whined.

  
“Well, you see I’m getting married and-”

  
“To who?”

  
“Newt. My boyfriend…or fiancé now, I guess. You met him at the airbase,” she said, sounding slightly on edge.

  
“Ah- no, Anathema you can do so much better than that wanker!”

  
“Oi! We’re getting married and I’m ringing you to ask… no- _demand_ you help me pick out a wedding dress!” Anathema yelled. Crowley was secretly pleased at her change of attitude but would never mention it.

  
“What would you want me to do that for?” he asked, incredulously.

  
“Well, I suppose this part is a bit embarrassing but… erm… you’re my most fashionable friend and-” Crowley didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. He was tickled that this young witch considered him her friend. He didn’t have many of those.

  
“Alright well… I suppose I can be of service,” he mumbled while rolling his eyes.

  
“Oh, really, Crowley? That’s wonderful, thank you!” she nearly squealed.

  
And that was how Crowley ended up in that fancy dress shop, a couple days ago. Her mother was supposed to be there as well but had an emergency to attend to. It was just them. Crowley wondered if he was the maid of honour. He wouldn’t put it past the witch.

  
Anathema walked out of the changing room wearing a long white gown. Its train trailed across the floor as she walked to the raised podium and mirrors in front of Crowley. The fabric looked smooth and bunched up in places around her waist and legs. It was her third dress of the day.

  
“What do you think, Crowley?” she asked. One thing Crowley had very strong opinions about was fashion. He had also spent a countless number of years presenting as female throughout random times in the whole of history. He was familiar with dresses. It was not a pretty dress.

  
“It’s fine,” Crowley managed.

  
“Could you give us a moment, please?” Anathema asked the bridal shop attendant. She nodded and walked away. Anthema stepped down from the podium and clumsily plopped herself down next to Crowley on the couch.

  
“You know, I didn’t just ask you here because you’re fashionable. I asked you because you’re honest, Crowley, and wouldn’t think twice about telling me how ugly something is,” she said, her voice intent and stern but not without kindness. “So tell me… what is it that’s bothering you so?” she asked. She put her hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Normally he would turn away from this blatant show of affection but Anathema looked so genuine and he knew she deserved better out of him. He steeled himself, drawing a breath.

  
“It’s been months since we were all together at Tadfield. And I thought Aziraphale and I would be together by now,” he admitted, looking away. “I thought the only thing keeping us apart was Heaven and Hell but now… I don’t know.” It was shameful to admit.

  
“Well, do you have any ideas?” she patiently asked.

  
“I’m not good enough for him, Anathema. And we both know it,” he blurted out. He hadn’t expected to say it. He hadn’t even known it was on his mind. But now that he had gotten it out, it couldn’t be more obvious. Crowley was almost 99% positive that demons couldn’t experience love. How was Aziraphale expected to make a move when reciprocation, the way he needed it, wasn’t sure? And Crowley knew that Aziraphale deserved all the love in the universe. It was at this point Crowley realized what he had to do. He would rise for Aziraphale. No matter how long it took, no matter how painful it was, he would do it. It was the only way he could give Aziraphale what he needed, what he deserved.

  
“How do you know you’re not good enough for him?” Anathema asked. He looked at her as if she was daft.

  
“I’m a demon. He’s an angel.”

  
“Did that stop him from becoming your friend?”

  
“That’s different! Besides, it took him centuries to even consider me a friend and not just someone he was fraternizing with,” he said, punctuating the word ‘fraternizing’ with air quotes. There was a pause in the conversation. “I think I have to rise, Anathema,” he said, not quite able to swallow.

  
“Is that even possible? Not that I don’t think you could do it but… Has it ever happened before?”

  
“Not that I know of, but I’ve got to try. For him,” he said, determinedly.

  
“I think you should just talk to him first. You don’t know how he’s feeling,” she suggested. But Crowley couldn’t do that. Aziraphale knew Heaven and he knew better than anyone that rising was an impossible task. Crowley didn’t want him to give up before they even started. Even worse than that, he didn’t want to face rejection right now. Aziraphale might have trouble wrapping his head around the idea of a relationship with a demon but he’d have a better chance at convincing him once he was an angel again. His brain wouldn’t let him contemplate the possibility of the angel rejecting him at that point. Even if it did come to that, Crowley could have his hope for all the years leading up to it. They could still be friends before Crowley made things awkward. No, he couldn’t tell him now. He would prove himself worthy first.

  
He again confided in Anathema his plans to rise. She sighed. “I still think you should talk to him but… I know you’re stubborn.” He looked at her with a small smile. “Now if you’re quite finished I believe I am the bride here…”

  
“Let’s pick a dress that will make Newt remember how lucky he is.” She beamed and walked as fast as she could to the changing room. He almost wanted to thank her for being such a good… friend.

  
After trying on 11 white dresses, they had left the shop hours later with the one black wedding dress in the store.

“Small favor?” Aziraphale scoffs. Crowley immediately feels a sharp sting of pain in his chest and moves to sit down on his couch. Of course it’s his couch, he’s the only one who uses it. Aziraphale must have noticed because he walks over to the couch cautiously, as if approaching a scared deer. He sits down as close to Crowley as he can be without being on top of him. He grabs hold of the demon’s hand and squeezes. Crowley is mad at himself for feeling a tingle in the same spot his pain is.

  
“I didn’t mean to offend you, darling. I guess I just don’t understand why…” he trails off. “What’s gotten into you? Are you sick?” He places the back of his hand on Crowley’s forehead. The demon petulantly pulls Aziraphale’s hand off him but he still holds onto his other hand.

  
“I’m not sick. If you won’t help me-”

  
“No!” Aziraphale interrupts, “of course I’ll help you. I just think it’ll help me if you tell me why we’re doing this?” Crowley was expecting this question of course and he had prepared an excuse.

  
“I know Hell is still keeping tabs on me even though they can’t do anything. I want them to know I’m not on their side… that I’m against them.” He never said it was a good excuse.

  
“So, you want to become a good person… out of spite…?” Aziraphale asks contemplatively. Crowley winces. “I love it! I mean we’ll have to work on motivations at a later date but this certainly makes more sense,” he rambles. Now Aziraphale is excitedly squeezing Crowley’s hand. He sighs out of relief. If his angel was helping him, it would all be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluffy with a dash of angst at the end

“Lesson number one!” Aziraphale declares. “Good deeds don’t go unnoticed!” Crowley could tell Aziraphale was enjoying himself far too much. 

“Why are we on your street, angel?” Crowley groans. He was leaning against the wall of the bookshop with his arms crossed. He wanted to become a good person but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t complain about it the whole time. 

Aziraphale starts up again. “Look at all these people! Perfect strangers!”

“No better than scurrying ants,” Crowley murmurs. Aziraphale is gesturing to the dirty street and multitudes of people (probably tourists) running from shop to shop. 

“I wanted to start with something simple today, dear,” Aziraphale says, actively ignoring Crowley’s comment. “We’re just going to add some cheer to peoples’ days. Small reasons to smile, like holding the door open or lending someone a pound or complimenting someone.” Crowley is sure Aziraphale can see his glare, despite the sunglasses. 

“How magical,” he says facetiously. 

“I will have you know that today will be positively delightful!” Aziraphale beams. Crowley reluctantly follows as Aziraphale begins in one direction. He’s not surprised when Aziraphale stops in front of a bakery. He opens the door and allows for a couple to leave before entering. He makes a point to smile at them and wave. They thank him but seem a tad confused. 

“You see Crowley, a little kindness goes a long way,” he insists. He holds the door open for Crowley then proceeds to put his hands behind his back. He tries to look nonchalant as he examines the menu board.  _ The smug bastard.  _

“Oh please, that? We only came here so you could buy a scone!” Crowley chides. The gluttonous angel never ceased to amuse him. 

“Fancy one, dear? I’ll buy,” Aziraphale offers. Crowley nods. They walk to the counter where a young girl is at the register. 

“Two scones, my dear,” Aziraphale says, smile as bright as a halo. “And may I just say, your hair is looking quite attractive today! Did you get a cut?” Crowley should’ve known that he’d be a regular here. Aziraphale practically winks at him to emphasize his complement. Crowley blushes from second-hand embarrassment. 

“Oh, thanks Aziraphale. I did yesterday, actually,” the girl answers. “Anything else for my favorite customer?”

“No, thank you dear!” he gushes. Crowley knows he’s supposed to be taking notes on how to be a friendly person but he can’t help from being enchanted by the being standing next to him. He was so amiable and welcoming. Crowley marveled at how he made everyone he ever met fall in love with him. He didn’t think that was a skill he could learn. He watches as Aziraphale leaves a generous tip in the jar. Aziraphale waggles his eyebrows in Crowley’s direction. Crowley wants to slam his hand over his forehead but is distracted by the girl handing him a plate with a single scone on it. Aziraphale is holding his own plate and looks pointedly at him. He clears his throat and stares at Crowley and then at his scone, and then at the worker. 

“Oh… thank you,” Crowley finally replies. Aziraphale looks pleased as he finds a table to sit at. After they are both sat Aziraphale proceeds to stuff half the scone in his mouth. 

“They have the most scrumptious scones here,” he practically moans. Crowley hasn’t touched his yet; he’s too busy staring at his friend. Crowley has always enjoyed watching Aziraphale devour foods, much more so than the actual food itself. Oysters and sushi and cakes and flambés and fondues and steaks and- He could go on forever. He loved how fussy he’d be, examining his dishes for quality and excellence. He loved the surprised little shock on his face at the first bite, even if he’d had the food before. He loved when he closed his eyes and just savoured whatever was in his mouth. He loved the way his Adam's apple (Crowley named it that, by the way) bobbed with each swallow. He loved how he’d soon remember where he was and say “Why aren’t you eating, dear?” while Crowley stuttered and looked away. And  _ oh, God when he actually lets out a moan in public.  _ Crowley would’ve been embarrassed the few times it had happened if his corporation wasn’t busy forgetting how to breathe (and that he didn’t need to breathe in the first place). 

“What are you thinking about, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks. 

“How much of a bastard you are, using this opportunity to your own benefit,” Crowley responds, not necessarily lying. He’s aware the way he says bastard is the way anyone else would say  _ honey, beautiful,  _ or  _ baby.  _

“I learned from the best,” he responds whilst patting his mouth with a napkin. The bastard has the gall to wink afterwards. It’s times like this Crowley wants to believe Aziraphale could actually be interested in him. Teasing banter was pretty much flirting, right? 

“I think we’ve had enough social interaction for one day. Can we go back to yours after?” Crowley asks, trying not to sound needy. He already knows Aziraphale will happily oblige but he  _ still has some pride  _ _dammit_. 

When they are finally back in the shop and Crowley is sprawled out on the couch, he watches Aziraphale move about the kitchen. No words were exchanged on the short walk there but there was none needed. He comes back with two mugs. One is white and has angel wings on it and there is a tea bag tag hanging from the lip. The other is red and has a black snake on it.  _ That’s new.  _ Aziraphale places the snake mug on the coffee table and sits whilst taking a sip of his tea. 

“Angel…” Crowley starts, “what’s this?” His eyes gaze down towards the mug which he can now see is filled with cocoa.

“Oh, you don’t like it? I saw it at a cute little hole in the wall the other day and I felt I just had to get it,” the Angel answers. His eyes seem to light up at the memory of it. He goes on, “but I understand if it’s not to your liking. I can always give you a different design.”

“No,” Crowley gets out quickly. “It’s perfect.” The reassurance immediately turns Aziraphale’s unsure face into a lighthearted smile. 

“You’re quite beautiful, you know.” And Crowley chokes. “As a serpent,” Aziraphale hastily adds. Then, more hastily, “not that you aren’t beautiful in your human form!” Besides choking, Crowley finds the angel’s stumbling and flushing overwhelmingly endearing. 

“You really think that?” he asks.

“Oh, my dear. I was quite charmed by you in the Garden,” Aziraphale replies, smirking almost. This is news to Crowley’s ears.

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. Of course, I was still wary of you. But secretly I thought to myself, ‘I didn’t know demons could be beautiful.’ Seemed like an oxymoron to me,” he admits. 

“Now I know why you talked to me all those years ago. You were only interested in my looks,” Crowley jokes, not quite sure how to interpret the confession. Aziraphale laughs.

“No, my dear. But maybe it warmed me up to the idea of giving you a chance and a listening ear. If a demon could be beautiful on the outside maybe they could be on the inside too.” Crowley is taken aback by this answer and simply stares at the angel. “Oh, I know. Quite naïve of me to think this after just laying eyes on you but…” he pauses, “I was right.” He ends it with a smile.

Now Crowley really doesn’t know what to say. He’s not used to Aziraphale being so open about their relationship. The Now truly is a different time. 

“Eh, better to be naïve than like me. I had originally talked to you just to rile you up, maybe scare you even. But when you told me you gave away your sword I knew you weren’t like those other prats,” Crowley says. 

“You mean you only liked me because I was bad at my job,” Aziaphale laughs.

“No… well… yeah,” Crowley decides. “To be fair that’s the reason we’re here together now. Both rubbish at our jobs. That’s why we have our own side now.” 

Aziraphale nods and stares off into the distance. Crowley wonders what goes on in that angel head. He likes to believe that he’s the mysterious one but he’s the open book. Aziraphale has always been the hard one to read one. The one who lied to himself about his own feelings and concerns. He wondered if Aziraphale was constantly bombarded with love radiating off of him. He knew he had become accustomed to swallowing his feelings but he sometimes let his guard down. 

The most emotion Crowley had ever felt from the angel was when he had asked him for holy water. The immediate  _ pain  _ Crowley had felt like it was in his own chest. Again, in the Bentley, when he had handed him the tartan flask. It wasn’t a sharp, stabbing pain that time. It was an ache that settled deep inside Aziraphale’s bones. One that he had sat with for years and was coming to a head. Crowley had never felt pure anger from the angel until the Tadfield airbase, when he had threatened him with excommunication. He wasn’t angry with Crowley, he knew that, but the feeling settled in his chest like a burning. Worse than the fire he had just then driven through. That’s when he knew he had to stop the Devil, so the angel would stop burning. 

He wondered when the angel had felt the most love and joy from him. 

  
  


Crowley woke up when the sun was down. He didn’t know if it was the same day but he must have dozed off on the couch taking to Aziraphale. There was a blanket on him. It wasn’t the first time he’d accidentally fallen asleep in the bookshop, not by a long shot. It was, however, the first time a blanket appeared on him afterwards. He had never seen this blanket before. It was all wrong for the angel’s tastes. Where one would expect tartan was a sleek black throw that was softer than any wool. 

This was not the weirdest or most disorienting part of waking up. He suddenly noticed his feet were at a slight incline. The incline was Aziraphale’s thighs.  _ Satan, those thighs.  _ He was reading a book and subtly stroking Crowley’s left ankle. He hadn’t seemed to notice that Crowley was stirring. 

“Angel.” Aziraphale nearly jumped and took his hand off the ankle. 

“You scared me, Crowley. You’ve been out for two days. Was learning how to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ really so tiring?” Aziraphale snarks. Crowley wonders why the angel decided to sit on the couch this time instead of his beloved chair but decided against it. If he didn’t make a big deal out of it maybe it could happen again. 

“Yeah, who knew being a good person was such work? Now I know why you’re so fussy all the time,” he says, yawning. Aziraphale lightly slaps Crowley’s shins with his book. Crowley sits up and takes the book from his hands, ignoring the protests of ‘no, please that’s a first edition, Crowley!’ and ‘if you damage it I will smite you _.’_ Empty threat. He drops the book to the ground while staring into his eyes, daring the angel to do something about it. He’s not sure what he expected Aziraphale to do but it wasn’t this.

The angel stretches his upper body closer to him so he can bring his hands towards Crowley’s stomach. Then he begins the tickling. Now, Crowley has never been ticklish. But, to his dismay, Crowley instantly realizes this is only because no one would have been stupid enough to try before this moment. He finds out that he is, in fact, quite ticklish. 

When Aziraphale reaches under his armpits this must provoke some sort of primal instinct in Crowley that makes him kick his leg at the angel. A solid foot hits his nose and Aziraphale immediately stops his ministrations. 

“Ow,” he groans, holding his nose. Crowley can see blood start to drip from under his hand and curl around his fingers. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, angel,” Crowley tries, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He’s looking at his friend with deep concern.  _ Would he be mad and stop talking to me for a decade? _

“Didn’t realize you were so ticklish,” the angel grumbles. He’s pouting and glaring at Crowley. The demon snaps some tissues into existence and places them under Aziraphale’s bloody hand for him to grab. He’s still glaring at Crowley while Crowley just stares at him. He finds himself dumbfounded. That is, until he starts cracking up. 

“Are you laughing at me, you fiend?” the angel asks, glare even more menacing. Crowley can’t contain his laughter at that. Crowley is currently laughing his arse off because he had come to a revelation whilst staring at the angel bleeding and huffing. 

_ Never was there, or will there be, a demon as lucky as me.  _

He laughs at the absurdity of it all. A demon and an angel get into a tickle fight. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. He thinks no demon must’ve ever been tickled by an angel before, or vice versa. He can imagine a demon kicking an angel in the face but he can’t quite imagine said demon still partially laying on the grouchy angel. Hit with the thought of how he got here, how  _ lucky  _ he is to be here, he simply laughs. Aziraphale’s adorably unsurprising pouting only exacerbates the situation. A normal angel, let alone a principality, should have a much different reaction. A righteous smiting, perhaps. But Aziraphale isn’t a normal angel and Crowley is a particularly fortunate demon. 

After calming himself down, Crowley forgets to suppress his unbridled love and presses a quick and chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. The angel momentarily stops pouting and is at a loss for words, his cheeks nearly as red as his blood. This is when Crowley realizes what he’s done. 

_ Well, the only thing I can do is own it now.  _

Crowley is used to pretending his plans are well-thought out and not ill-intentioned accidents. Perk of his previous line of work. 

“Don’t act so surprised, angel. I had to kiss it all better.”  _ Smooth.  _ The angel resumes pouting and softly punches Crowley in the arm. 

“You’re just trying to distract me from the fact that I’m cross with you. For shame!” Aziraphale exclaims. Now they’re both laughing and Crowley can breathe again. 

  
  


“He’s just so soft and pretty and handsome and smart and annoying and cute and-”

“Crowley, you should really learn how to articulate your feelings better,” Anathema says. Crowley is laying on his own couch in his own flat with his phone in hand. He’s upside down while he stares at the ceiling and chats with Anathema. The call had started with wedding talk but somehow ended up about Aziraphale, like it always did. 

“Ngk,” Crowley replies, proving her point.

“Have you thought about what you’ll even say to him when the time comes?” she asks. This makes Crowley turn himself upright on the couch again. He hadn’t thought about this before but now that the idea was placed in his head he doubted he’d ever stop now. 

“Oh no, Anathema. What am I gonna say?” 

“I don’t know, just speak from the heart and all that bullshit,” she answers. 

“When I try to speak from the heart all I can say is  _ angel  _ and  _ ngk,”  _ Crowley whines. “I’m a bloody, bumbling idiot.”

“Maybe you should read some poetry. Aziraphale loves that type of stuff.” But Crowley thinks reading poetry is a snore.

“I can’t just tell him some other person’s words!” he exclaims.

“You’re right. Maybe you should learn to write poetry,” she suggests. Crowley mulls this over in his head. It sounded more original than reading at least. It also sounded like a bore but Crowley would do it for the angel. After all, he knew it had to come out perfectly when the time came.

“I gotta go. I have to find a decent class to sign up for.” 

“You’re welcome, Crowley,” Anathema sighs. Crowley mumbles something incoherent and hangs up. 

  
  


Crowley’s classes were scheduled for Tuesdays and Thursdays from 18:00 to 20:00 for three months. Normally this would seem like a blink of an eye in time but since the Armageddon That Wasn’t, he was suddenly booked just about every evening. Most of his evenings included indulging in the finest food and wines that the world had to offer and having meaningless but pleasant conversations, with a certain angel. He wasn’t sure what he should tell Aziraphale. A poetry class for a demon who didn’t mind literature, at the best of times, was suspicious. But he couldn’t very well disappear for two nights a week with no explanation. He wanted Aziraphale to know he appreciated spending time with him and they were a team now. 

He decided not to mention it at first. After all, the angel had never meddled in his business before. Of course, that was Then but it was possible he might not find absences to be a concern after their shared history of intermittent meetings. 

This went fairly well, for a week that is. The first Tuesday was of no particular occurrence. That Thursday however, was the date of their second lesson.

“Today we need to dive into my library,” Aziraphale said, much too jovial for Crowley’s liking.

“Of course we do,” he moaned.

“I realized I need to give you a crash course on ethics and morality.” Aziraphale pointed up like this was a great epiphany. There was a stack of intimidatingly thick books on the coffee table. Crowley decided to plop himself on the couch face-down and groaned with annoyance. 

“Idon wanna ree mm tootired,” Crowley mumbled into the pillows. Somehow the angel had still understood.

“You don’t have to read the entirety of the books, dear. They’re just some sources I may refer to,” Aziraphale explained. From the corner of his eye Crowley could see he miracled a chalk-board in the room.  _ Of course not a whiteboard, that would be too modern.  _ The angel even had his futile reading glasses perched upon his nose. Crowley would never admit that he loved those glasses. 

“Sit up proper, dear. Class is in session,” Aziraphale demanded. He breaks character briefly to add, “Oh, I’ve always wanted to say that!” Then he is back to serious business. Crowley sat up but it was anything but proper, the way his body always seemed to tangle and bend. 

“Morality is basically distinguishing between right and wrong. Now, demons usually have a twisted sense of morality. But I think you’re above that so I’m not going to treat you like you’re stupid. But please dear, do tell me if you’re ever confused or if I’m moving too quickly or too slowly,” Aziraphale said. Crowley was happy he was being understanding but he didn’t want to disappoint him, desperately so. 

“Now, when one is discussing morality, you must look at the subject in the context of the cultural climate and-”

Despite Crowley zoning out repeatedly, he managed to listen to Aziraphale for three hours before he realized his class was about to start.

“And that’s why obedience to authority bothers people like you, Crowley. If something goes against your personal code of ethics your self-identity may suffer.”

“Angel, I hate to stop you analyzing me but I actually have to leave now,” he interrupted. Aziraphale blinked like waking up from a long dream or, in this case, a long lecture. 

“Oh… I’m sorry I must have gone on for quite some time. But we can stop now and have a drink if you like,” he offered. Crowley winced.

“Actually, I have a… prior engagement,” he settled on. 

“Oh?” Aziraphale questioned, surprised. 

“Yeah, it’s nothing but I am late so…”

“Of course, dear, just get a wiggle on,” Aziraphale said. Crowley had immediately, not bothering to say goodbye. He had been lucky the angel respected his privacy. However, the same could not be said for the following Tuesday. 

The pair had been chatting for awhile. It wasn’t a lesson per se, just a casual meeting between friends, like usual. Like usual, the drinks were flowing. 

“Why don’t you ever invite me round yours?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley had not been drinking as much as the former, anticipating poetry writing soon. He could tell by his face that he’d never have asked sober.

“I have, remember? After Tadfield?”

“That hardly counts. Do you not like me enough?” Crowley looked at him incredulously. The angel stared off into the distance, nursing his glass and pouting all the while. Crowley sighed.

“Right, yeah, that’s it, angel. I don’t like you,” he answered. The angel looked ready to cry in response to that though so he started again. (After rolling his eyes.) “My place isn’t like yours, you know that. You’ve got all these books and it's cushy and warm and it’s got pillows and blankets and it smells like you. Mine’s got a throne room and poorly behaved plants. It’s just white and  _ empty. _ Do you really wanna be invited where there are no books?”

“S’not the point. I could bring my own books,” he huffed. “The point is that it’s yours so I want to be there.” 

And something had pricked Crowley’s chest at that. But he didn’t have time to think about it because class was soon. 

“I’ve got to head out, angel,” Crowley said.

“Was it something I said? Why do you keep leaving every evening?” Aziraphale asked, clearly fussing.

“I don’t leave every evening. I just have a… appointment,” he said. He wanted to be annoyed at his friend fussing over him but he only felt affection. Regardless, he couldn’t just tell him where he was going. 

“What does that mean? We don’t have jobs anymore and you don’t go to doctors or anything like that.” Aziraphale was suspicious. 

“It’s nothing like that…” he trailed off. He rubbed his neck, uncomfortable.

“I know I’ve monopolized your time since Armageddon but… well…” he stammered, “I’d rather you tell me the truth that you don’t want to see me instead of running off every time with a fake meeting!”

“Oh, angel, no...” Crowley stood off the couch to approach his friend’s chair. Aziraphale had purposely avoided eye contact and continued to sulk. 

“I don’t want your pity, Crowley. I just want you to feel comfortable. So just go.”

So he did. Even though his corporation’s heart seemed to be yelling at him for it. 

_ Soon, Aziraphale.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we do during quarantine? This, apparently.


End file.
